Maybe I'm Waking Up
by caspeter
Summary: What if someone had managed to change Rick's mind just in time?


"Jimmy set the whole thing up perfectly."

Rick froze, his breath hitched, time seemed to slow to a halt as he stood in the cubicle, covered in the still drying yellow paint.

Jimmy. He should have known, he should have. He thought - that maybe... Maybe people were beginning to see him.

Beginning to understand.

He'd tried so hard. Given everything he had to change, and he wasn't who he was before. He was good. He knew that.

He should have known they would never give him a chance.

It was his own fault.

His fault for trusting Jimmy, for trusting Jay and for coming back to this stupid dump.

He'd thought Jimmy had been his friend, someone trustworthy.

But then again, he'd thought that Emma cared for him too. No, he thought, bitterly, she only pitied him.

He was sick of pity. He didn't want pity, he wanted a chance to prove himself.

He could hear Jay and Spinner talking outside, but he was no longer focused on what they were saying, he'd heard enough.

Standing there, alone in the cubicle, clutching his bag with yellow paint drying and sticking the remainder of the feathers to his body, he wondered if he had ever really had any friends at all.

As he heard their retreating footsteps, he took a deep breath in, pushed the door open, and, still clutching his bag to his chest, he stepped out of the cubicle and into the bathroom.

Jimmy. Jimmy. He had to find Jimmy.

Had to make Jimmy feel what he was feeling.

He turned to make his way to find him - to make him pay, when the door creaked open.

"Rick?" Fuck. He knew that voice.

Spinner. What was Spinner doing back in here?

Rick plastered on a fake smile, and looked up at Spinner.

"Rick, man, I'm sorry. That was... It was a crap thing to do. You didn't deserve it."

Rick scoffed, and shook his head at Spinner.

"That's not what you thought when you did it. When you made me think I had a friend in Jimmy."

Spinner took a deep breath in, he looked visibly upset, and Rick narrowed his eyes.

"About that... Jay and I... We saw your feet, in the cubicle. He lied, Jimmy had nothing to do with it. He defended you. He defended you and... We should've listened."

A silence fell over the two boys, and Spinner looked at Rick hopefully.

"Yeah, you should've. Too late now."

This didn't change his plans. Only now? Now it would be Jay, Jay and not Jimmy. Jay deserved what was coming.

So why did Rick feel sick to his stomach?

"If you, uh, if you want," Spinner began, after a moments silence, "I can help you get some of that paint outta your hair? But I mean, your clothes are screwed, man." Spinner chuckled to himself.

"Why the fuck would you think I want you, of all people to help me?" Rick snapped.

Spinner looked taken aback, and frowned.

"I'm sorry?" he asked, seemingly offended.

Rick scoffed, but before he could say anything, Spinner began to speak.

"No, Rick. I'm sorry. Okay, what I did to you doesn't deserve forgiveness. But I'm sorry. I feel bad. I shouldn't have helped Jay with the paint and I shouldn't have gone along with his lie about Jimmy, but... I'm mostly sorry I never gave you the chance to prove you were a good guy. That you were sorry, so please, Rick. Do for me what I didn't for you. Let me show you I'm sorry."

Rick let his thoughts move to the gun in his bag, it would be so easy. Spinner was right there, in front of him, vulnerable. Alone. But... He didn't want to. Not any more.

He allowed a grin to spread over his face, and began to laugh. Spinner chuckled,

"What? What's so funny?"

Rick shook his head,

"It's just, if this is another joke? I'm gonna be so pissed." His tone held no bite, and Spinner allowed himself to laugh freely.

"Now do you want me to help you wash that paint outta your hair before it dries or not?"

And as Spinner and Rick stood in the bathroom, laughing and watching as the yellow paint washed down the sink, gun long forgotten in Rick's bag, both boys had a similar train of thought:

'Maybe he's not so bad after all.'


End file.
